


It's Dangerous to Go Alone

by birdn4t0r



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Actors, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Attempted Sexual Assault, Business, Drama, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Healing, Hollywood, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, No Smut, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Poor Life Choices, Rating: M, Real Life, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Esteem Issues, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Assault, Show Business
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-04-27 02:45:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14415990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/birdn4t0r/pseuds/birdn4t0r
Summary: Life can be hard, especially when everything that can POSSIBLY go wrong...does. Because life is evil and does that. It's Murphy's Law. When the Barrier is broken, Mettaton realizes that the Surface world, and humanity, is not nearly what he had hoped it to be. Especially in show business. And he learns that in the hardest way possible.





	1. Prologue

From within the dark cavern, illuminated only by the turquoise crystals and the bioluminescence of the various species of wildlife abundant in this underground wetland, a cacophony of voices, once expressing hopes and dreams but reduced to dissonant syllabic noise, rang through the constant, but irregular, pattering sound of the rain dripping from the cracks in the ceiling of the cavern, of the river as it flowed through the subterranean riverbed, and of the waterfall, resonating through the cavern as it poured into the bioluminescent pools of water in the abyss. Among these voices was the laughter of a small child, echoing through the cavern, high and clear, but with a hollow quality to it that could not have come from a physical being, followed by a lower, almost inaudible, murmur with the same quality.

If one looked closely, two transparent, ephemeral figures, could be seen, one large and one small, barely visible between the bioluminescence of the algae in the lake and the darkness of the cavern. They were ghosts. The small one, a child, clumsily tumbled through the wetland as though powered by a motor, while the large one, who appeared to be the guardian of this child, tailed behind, barely able to keep pace with the little one. They varied in visibility, as well, the little one maintaining a fairly bright glow and the older ghost floating nearly imperceptibly behind, watching the child intently. It was quite an odd sight; The child would jump up from the ground, attempting to float like the adult; however, this lift could never be maintained for much longer than a few seconds, so the child would always sink to the ground again, giggling as though it was the funniest thing in the world (and truly, it was quite funny to see) that this attempt had failed, and started off again while the elder of the two would follow behind, attempting to call to prevent the child from running off god-knows-where, possibly tumbling off in the abyss and disappear.

And there was reason for the adult's concern, with the child toddling along as fast as those little legs would allow, trying to gain lift with no care as to direction or danger, nor the knowledge that such a thing existed, for the child simply passed through the spiny wetland plants that would would prick anybody else quite painfully, through the water that one with physical form would take care to avoid as though it was not there. And in the mind the child, it was not! The world was simply a game of joy and intrigue, the objects simply illusions of barriers to fun, new playthings that others didn't go through for some odd reason.

But the older ghost knew that to run through the world with no concept of danger is dangerous game with a poor outcome, and thus would occasionally swoop and pick up the child before they could run into say, someone's house, eliciting nearly incomprehensible cries of protest from the clueless child, curious to see what treasures could be found behind this wall.

"Want! Want!" the child shouted angrily, kicking and screaming in the adult's arms.

"No, you can't do that. That's where someone lives." the older ghost cooed, not relenting to the child's tantrum in the slightest, even though the kicking and screaming hurt a little. This child must understand the concept of "walls." They winced at a sharp pain in their arm, and pulled it out of the child's teeth. "Uh, biting me won't really change that I said no, Mettacrit."

"But want!" responded the child, now at a loss for another way to escape, as biting did not work. Perhaps another approach was necessary. "Pease? I be good."

"Mettacrit," the adult said "you're not supposed to go into other people's houses."

"Why no?"

"Because it's, uh...the rules. Do you remember the big hairy people I told you about who make all the rules?"

"Yeah. But why rule?"

"Because...people don't like it when people go into other people's houses...when they're sleeping...and mess things up, even on accident. So to prevent that, they made it a rule that nobody can go into someone else's house without asking first."

"Okay." And with this, Mettacrit was satisfied, because it's the rules.

They stumbled along, followed by the adult through pricker bushes to a small alcove where kids often played. And indeed there were kids there. The adult had become invisible, for they were a ghost, and, knowing that others are afraid of ghost, did not want to scare the other kids off. But Mettacrit, unaware that they, too, were a ghost, remained bright and bold. And even if they had known that others were afraid of ghosts, they did not yet know how to control their visibility. They did not even know how to float for longer than a few seconds, much less have enough control of their magic to do that. So they wobbled along, attempting to float over to the other kids when a loud shriek was heard, causing the other kids to turn to see what was up, and upon seeing the ghost, they, too, screamed, filling the cavern with echoed screaming and crying. Then they ran away. This greatly upset Mettacrit, who had only wanted to play with the other kids. This upset caused them to cry. How lonely it is, to simply be a child who just wants to play, but when you try the other kids flee, fearing for their lives as though you were some unspeakable creature. The adult ghost floated beside them, holding them to calm the child down. They knew what it was like to be alone. But how does one say that it will be okay when one knows that loneliness is a fact of life for ghosts, when it is known that people will never stop running away? It would be a lie to say that it will change. Even if they were to pick a corporeal form later on, they could never truly escape other people's reactions to their form. So they held the child, allowing them to cry.

"B-boo-bl-bloo?" Mettacrit sputtered, still sniveling a little from the outburst, but tired out enough from crying that they were no longer sobbing too much to talk. "Why they run? I just want play."

"It's because they are scared. We aren't like them, so they are scared."

"Being not like is sad," Mettacrit pouted. The adult ghost, "Bloo," didn't want to see their little cousin sad, and tried to think of ways to take their mind off of the other kids. They liked talking and running, and since they were entering primary school soon, it would be good to at least be able to speak in full sentences and float enough to be able to move independently. They were quite a late bloomer, developmentally, but "Bloo" didn't want to tell their little cousin that, to avoid discouraging them from learning.

"Would you...like to go home? we can practice talking on the way."

"Okay." they replied, hugging their older cousin before letting go. "Bloo" wiped the tears off their face and gave them a napkin, and the two of them turned around and started off.

Through the subterranean wetland, intermittent shouts of "Napataboo!" and "Nanananananananapabaloo!" between murmurs of "Napstablook" could be heard, echoing through the cavern as they tottered home with their cousin to the Blook family Snail Farm. When they reached the farm, Mettacrit had realized that they could make themselves float now. They practiced talking all the way through mealtime, and even into the night, before they were told to go to sleep, trying to make their older cousin happy. They wanted to say their cousin's name right. And by God, they were going to get it right.


	2. Bankrupt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He couldn't believe that this had just happened. Seriously? How does a guy deal? The narrator is an asshole. But things can't get too bad, can they?

"Bankrupt?! What the hell do you mean, bankrupt?!" Mettaton spluttered, his eyebrows upturned, his mouth hanging slightly open in incredulity.

"As in, uh...y-you have n-no money?" his friend, Dr. Alphys, said, her voice raising in pitch. She bared her teeth nervously, averting her eyes from Mettaton's shocked expression. Despite the fact that this outcome was actually laughably predictable for anyone with a basic understanding of economics, he couldn't believe his ears; to his limited knowledge, what he had just heard was absolutely ridiculous! He had figured that the Barrier breaking would probably be bad for the housing market, but who cares about the landlords? He didn't think those ignominious jerks would hold so much power over him! Of course, he was not exactly the most enlightened of businessmen, nor was his business acumen worthy of any positive note. In fact, in matters of business he was quite...uneducated, to say the very least. Regardless of the reason for his astonishment, the problem remained that he was now bankrupt.

"But Alphys, how the heck do I pay everyone? It's not like I can just say, 'LOL bye guys, you don't have a job now!!!', We're union! What do I do about like, the severance and stuff? What the hell is the procedure here?!" he blurted, dropping to his knees and grabbing his friend by the shoulders and shaking her. "What the hell!!? Is this!!?"

"Uh...l-let's uh, st-stay c-c-calm here, s-so what y-you'll have to d-do is—"

"I AM CALM!!!" he shrieked, pulling his friend closer, this time shaking with such vigor that it upset her glasses, which tumbled to the floor with a soft clatter. She stammered nervously, explaining to him that he would have to file for bankruptcy and may have to pay the severance out of pocket. Neither he nor she knew where else the soon-to-be ex-employees would find work, which was a concern from the moment of hire. For he did not hire solely out of aptitude, but also evaluated their applications by whether or not the applicant may have difficulty finding alternative employment due to factors other than skill. And thus, many of those employed at MTT would have had difficulty finding work even if the economy had been booming. He released Dr. Alphys when what little capacity he had for common sense found him again, and kneeled to pick up the glasses.

"Sorry, darling. I, uh, got a little bit carried away there," he apologised sheepishly, handing her the glasses in one hand with the other clasped behind his neck. She took the glasses back with a tremor, and a twisted expression that stood between a smile and a grimace. A nervous "thanks" was forced from her bared teeth as she shoved the glasses back on her nose, still trembling tensely. Inhaling, she brought her hands across her face as though she were fixing her hair, which wad an odd sight for a lizard, and made a gesture indicating that she would help Mettaton deal with the logistics and paperwork involved in this disaster, her tail stiffly swaying as she shuffled.

"Hey boss, what the fuck is this?" snarked the young feline, gesturing at the pink slip he had just been handed by the robot, his face contorted in angry confusion. The orange cat monster's fur stood on end as he glared through his slitted pupils, as though he were ready to attack, before he deeply inhaled and narrowed his eyes at his ex-boss with a mischievous grin. "Looks like your head finally ate you alive. But that's how they do it on the Surface, I guess!"

"Not funny. In case you didn't notice, Burgerpants darling, the economy is wrecked and this company is now bankrupt," Mettaton groaned, running his hand back through his dark purple hair. He sighed. "This is your notice and your severance. Now, toodles, darling. I have to tell the others now." He spoke with a seriousness that was alarmingly uncharacteristic of the ditzy, cheerful Mettaton that "Burgerpants" had been employed by.

His eyes widened in alarm. "Wait, seriously?"

"I literally just announced it." Mettaton's voice again had that unfamiliar seriousness to it, this time with a slight harshness to it that raised the hair on Burgerpant's neck. He then turned and walked away, his gait having a subdued, almost solemn quality to it, from the freshly-laid off Burgerpants, who found it difficult to believe that the man who had just laid him off was the same man as the bubbly, incompetent, overly-cheerful boss he'd become accustomed to. The cat slowly turned to watch his boss, his expression lax as though he had been disoriented. This is what they mean, when they say "the duality of man." It was as though the previously-friendly atmosphere of the establishment had merely been a facade, the initial warm luster giving way to the abandoned, almost deteriorating look and feel of any other place. The lights began to feel too bright for the cat's eyes, the air going from comfortable to cold and clinical. Then, another, more gleeful reality had dawned on him: he no longer had to hold his tongue.

"Hey, that means, I can finally say what I've wanted to say for two whole months!" He turned and shouted at his former boss, who was plaintively handing a notice of dismissal to the shocked receptionist. "FUCK YOU, ASSHOLE!" He cackled gleefully, whooping as he ran to the door. But before exiting, he decided to take one last look at the place he had so hated for the two months it had existed. And, despite his resentments towards the asshole, his glee died within him when he saw the defeated expression of his former superior.

"I've never seen someone so happy to be unemployed," he commented, his voice flat and hollow.

Mettaton plodded to Alphys' house physically and emotionally exhausted and in despair, although he would never admit it. Would they be able to find other employment? Moreover, would they find a job that would have proper labor conditions? He himself had been a member of the Delta labor union, but without even the pitiful excuse for an economy the monsters had had before, the progress made by the union efforts may be rolled back by the crown in an attempt to revive it. Moreover, he had spent the last of his gold, and had even liquidated much of his assets in order to pay proper severance; and very few people would be willing or able to buy what assets he had left. Alas, the life of glamor truly is a short one, he lamented to himself, dramatically putting his arm over his head as he collapsed quite unglamorously onto his best friend's couch, his legs spread with one leaning against the back of it. Even though he had been made of metal, his joints were screaming at him like crazy. Ah, how underrated the simple life is! A sense of regret hanged over him, pinning him to the couch by the chest. He even felt as though the heavy cold had entered him through the speaker on his chest and was soon going to replace his SOUL. The regret made his tired body ache more, and he felt as though he had been made of lead instead of an aluminum alloy and silicon. The ache was strange to him, who had never before felt such a sensation. The physical sensation brought him an inappropriate euphoria, for which he chided himself as harshly as the little emotional strength he had left would allow.

Oh, what a truly terrible feeling it is to have to declare bankruptcy! What would he eat? How would he pay the bills, or the rent? He wallowed in despair for a while, thinking self-pitying things, fully relishing his suffering, when a part of him began thinking that perhaps, he was just incompetent, and that he should quit before he embarrasses himself further. This part of him had infected him long before this moment, and had in fact plagued him before he was even old enough to understand the concept of "self." How young he was, when he first felt this, that he could barely remember its origin, and he made an effort not to. The feeling brought only the cool, damp smell of childhood, a simpler time, but at the same time, it was a lonely time. He had never really excelled in science or history, even though he tried, at least, in the early days. He was an art kid, and had been belittled horribly for being the "weird kid," and no matter how many times he reported his tormentors they never seemed to face consequences. Oh, what they mocked him for! He had been mocked for being a ghost; for the speech impediment that had marked his early school years, and later on, his fascination with humanity was a crime that even the faculty couldn't forgive; even his poverty was subject to criticism, for he often did not bring a lunch to school simply because there was no food in the house, and when he did, it was mocked for being too "poor." Only one person had ever stood up for him in those days, and she absolutely terrified him. She was several years older than him, the girl who followed Gerson around, the girl who beat up the mailman, the girl rumored to be able to break rocks with her bare hands! He'd never actually known what her name was, and had always wondered if she was ever offended by his skittishness, and in the end decided that it was too likely that she held resentment towards him for it to take the risk of approaching her. Ah, childhood, where the biggest problems he faced were the brats who threw rocks and sticks in an attempt to "exorcise" him because they did not yet know how to use their magic. And maybe the history teacher. He was terrifying, always throwing the tables to make a point!

Mettaton opened his eyes, realizing that he had nodded off while wallowing himself in self-pity. He propped himself on his bent arms (since he didn't really have "elbows") and groaned. How long had it been? And, moreover, what had awakened him? He heard a soft beeping, the beeping that always accompanied low battery warnings. Sleeping wouldn't recharge his battery alone; he would have to plug himself in. What inefficient energy consumption! And also, what an annoying beeping sound! It makes sense that an important notification should be jarring and annoying, but still, why couldn't the notification be less obnoxious? Now righting himself to a sitting position, he felt the tiredness in his body return. Physical forms are nice, but what a nuisance fatigue is! He had never before felt physically fatigued, so he supposed that he should have felt excited. But at that moment, with all that had happened, he was just annoyed and grumpy. Why do minor inconveniences feel so much more significant than actual problems? He briefly pondered this before deciding that it did not matter to him at that point; his battery was at 3% and he had to get up early the next day to look for a new job. How exciting.

He snapped awake, sitting up as though he were made of elastic. The alarm clock read 7:09AM. He was supposed to get up at 6:30 for work; how did his alarm not go off? He scrambled out of bed, and cried out as he tripped on the sheets that he was entangled in as he dragged them over the side of the bed with him. The sudden motion and dangling sensation was jarring, and with his legs still entangled in the sheets, which were still partially affixed to the bed, began thrashing around frantically in order to free himself. Unfortunately, all that his kicking achieved was to detach the sheets entangling him from the bed entirely, and he shrieked as he fell and hit the floor with a loud thud, landing on his shoulders with such velocity that he rolled over his head and neck and crashed into the dresser, which fell on him, the drawers falling out, one of which hitting his head, and scattering his underwear and socks out all over the pink carpet. To add insult to injury, when he attempted stand in order to free himself from this catastrophy, the mirror that had once been affixed to the wall above the dresser fell down, shattering on his head. He clutched his head and winced, the knocks, bumps and crashes that had occured during his frenzy finally registering to him as pain. The fact that he wad being crushed by his dresser was not helping. It was at this time that he remembered that he had no work to go to; he was unemployed! He attempted to get back up a second time, only to flail back to the floor again when he felt the shock of touching something cold and wet, now lying in a puddle of spilled nail polish.

His scream could be heard from space.

"Oh my God, Alphys!" he exclaimed as the person who was supposed to be his best friend cackled at his misfortune.

"I-I'm sorry, b-but--" her apology, which was really more of a justification was interrupted by more uncontrollable of her shrieking, snorting laughter.

"It's not funny! It hurt! A lot, actually!"

"Th-th-that's why it's f-funny!" his sadistic friend screeched. "It's l-like s-something from-from a c-cart-to-to-toon!" She doubled over, clutching her abdomen. Mettaton didn't appreciate her humor one bit.

"Ugh. Can you please just fix me so I can start looking for an acting job or something?" he rolled his eyes, still grimacing slightly. His head felt heavy, with a dull throbbing behind his eyes, and a pressure that felt as though something were growing inside of his head and it was getting too large for it. He raised an ice pack to his head with his right hand, causing his neck and shoulder to twinge. His back was even more inflamed than it had been the night before. He reflexively drew in a sharp breath (even though he didn't actually need to breathe) and allowed himself to double over on Alphys' work bench. "Ow. Shit." His friend's laughter had by this point abated enough for her to think clearly, and she laid him down and plugged him in.

"Okay, Mettaton. Lie down so I can fix you. But uh, I kinda need..." At this point, the throbbing in his head and neck had grown so much that it consumed his senses as though it required them as sustenance. With a head empty of all but the throbbing and the desire to make it go away, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to power down. It was only 9:00AM, and it'd already been a terrible day. There was no possible way that he could envision it getting any worse.

After two entire days worth of searching the internet and surrounding neighborhood for acting jobs, he had finally found an audition that was nearby and would accept someone without an agent. It was to star as a one-time character in a TV show and the pay wasn't much, but he had hoped that perhaps, he might get scouted for being the world's most fabulous character-of-the-day. He applied his eyeliner with a steady hand, winging it ever so slightly to fit his aesthetic. He excitedly put on a fairly decent t-shirt, to impress the humans by going the extra mile and wearing clothing. He wasn't sure what the dress code was, but he supposed that he couldn't go wrong with a decent t-shirt and his leggings. It wasn't the most official of attires, but he figured that it would be pretentious, even for him, to wear something more fancy to an audition to be a character-of-the-day. And besides that, there was also the minor complication that he'd pawned all of his nicer clothing in order to pay his employees. After struttinh in front of the bathroom mirror, he applied lipstick and mascara before he placed his copy of Romeo and Juliet in his bag and headed out. Today would be a good day! He hadn't really been able to enjoy the beauty of the Surface before then, oh, the sunlight must be nice. After all, the sun is the biggest spotlight of them all! A nuclear-fusion powered spotlight that was radioactive and extremely far away, but a spotlight nevertheless. The distance between the mountain and the city truly didn't seem much to him, and the presence of the sun seemed to boost his mood all the way into the city.

"Well, well, well. Now, where is this place, anyway...?" he thought aloud, taking out his cell phone where he had saved the address. While he was opening the notepad where he'd stored the address, he felt a gun being pressed against his head. "What..."

"Give me your bag and get on the ground, now!" boomed a deep, scratchy voice.

"What?! Wh--"

"Give me your bag and get on the fucking ground right now or I'm gonna blow your fucking head off!" he heard the sound of a gun being cocked, gave the scary man with a gun his bag and got on the ground. The man sat on his back and began shuffling through his bag, muttering and listing the items to himself as he tossed them out of the bag, one by one. His weight pressed into Mettaton's back, and with it, a heavy sense of fear dug into his soul. The cement was hard and rough. Every time the man shifted, it was as though the weight of the world had been pressed into him, scraping his chest across the rough cement with what felt like every little movement. He lay every still, because he feared that if he moved even a little bit, the man would kill him right then and there. After what felt like eons of being pressed into the urine-scented sidewalk, the man dumped the remaining contents of the purse out onto the ground in frustration, muttering something rude, and tossed it on the ground, kicking Mettaton's head when he stood up, and ran off. He lay still for a few more minutes, just to be safe, before carefully standing back up. He brushed his front off with a trembling hand, and scrambled to stuff all his things back in his purse. As he stood up and brushed himself up, he realized that he'd just gotten mugged. Classic. Just classic.

After walking a short distance on that block, he noticed that the place he was going was just right across the street. Perhaps this day was going to be a good day after all! Why let something so small ruin this otherwise beautiful day? It's not like anything was stolen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof! Another chapter! Not angsty yet, but oof! I tried to characterize MTT as a bit of a drama queen, in case you can't tell. Hope you enjoy this. I made sure to actually make it the length of a chapter this time!


	3. Everything is Totally Fine!!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a few tries, some negotiations and a little "favor," he has the job now! Let's! Not talk about the favor. Or think about it. It's just show biz, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: this chapter contains a lot of the triggering content noted in the tags.

It took a few tries, but he had done it! He'd gotten a role, albeit small, for a popular TV show! Hell, he'd even gotten an agent! Auditioning was definitely all that it took to convince the directors to hire him as a character actor, there was absolutely nothing else that was involved in him obtaining that role, and anyone who would think so is completely and absolutely wrong! And absolutely all that happened when he found an agent who would take him on was an interview and an audition. Yep, things were totally, absolutely, completely great.

...Except for that one thing that kinda just...happened. But nobody likes to think about that. Especially Mettaton, who Had Much More Important Things For His Mind to Be On, such as the script and really playing the part. He was only one of many characters-of-the-day, but that is definitely a start. After all, he knew that the Surface would be a fresh start for everybody, and he didn't mind paying his due diligence in order to become a star! What luck, to become a character actor so quickly! Well, not luck but rather, it was because of his talent and charisma that the directors noticed his audition in particular! Everything was absolutely fine and dandy!

...Which is what he tried to convince himself had happened, but a sinking...feeling...from inside him kept bringing his mind back to the truth. The truth of what had happened had involved some dealings of a little bit more sordid nature than a simple audition and filling out paperwork. A dealing that a small part of him felt was a disgrace. He stopped in front of his apartment door and inhaled deeply, trying again to forget about that little "favor" he did to get his agent to actually give him a chance. He swallowed and decided that it would be a good time to brush his teeth and start preparing for the next day's shoot. After all, sometimes there are things you just have to do to attain your dreams! That's show business, baby!

Mettaton, bein a master in the art of persuasion, had been over the course of the night had almost been able to make himself put events of the previous day out of his mind. Everything was fine. Everything was completely fine. But, despite the fact that everything was Completely Fine, there was a bitter taste in his mouth that would not go away, no matter what he did to try and get rid of it. I should just buckle down and deal with it, he supposed to himself, as actors have to eat gross things all the time on set. Why should the previous day'd events be much different? He reasoned with the feeling of disgust that burned within his chest for a little while longer before he decided that it'd been satiated enough for him to go on with his day. And this day involved some weekly maintenance of his new body, after which he would begin shooting for the TV show he'd be starring in. He figured that he wouldn't want to subject his friend, Dr. Alphys, to anything crappy literally two months after they'd made up. he considered the way he'd treated her, and his mind shifted to how he'd treated his other friends and his family. No, it would indeed be a horrible idea to subject any of them to even the shadow of something disgusting. What they don't know about him won't hurt them.

He left his apartment complex, strutting like usual, heading for a quick, weekly maintenance before the shoot at 10:00. His heels clicked on the stone walk as he swiftly strided his way to the house of Dr. Alphys, who since losing her job as the royal scientist had lost access to the Royal Laboratory and had created a makeshift workbench for maintenance in her living room. Her girlfriend, Undyne, was also living in the residence, as due to its location in outer Hotland it had been government mandated to be constructed to be 100% fireproof, and thus no longer burned down the house every time she touched a stove. It did, however, require her to don and doff her armor at work instead of at home due to the heat of the area, as well as the fact that she was a fish. The temperature dropped noticeably as he neared the edge of Hotland. It was actually quite a nice change from the constant, suffocating heat of inner Hotland. Approaching her door, he knocked on the door nonchalantly and leaned on the doorframe, resting one leg on the other ankle.

"Hello~ Is anybody home?~"

There was no audible response.

He knocked again, this time getting a little more playful. "Open up or I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll blow your house down!~" He then heard shuffling footsteps approaching the door. Said footsteps had a slight attitude about their rhythm, sounding as sharp as a shuffle could be.

"Oh my God, Mettaton! I said I was coming!" she snarked, opening the door with a creak in her heavy-handed yet graceful manner.

"Make sure this maintenance is fast, Alphys, because I have an appointment at 10:00!" He pointed to the clock, which read 7:30am, and snapped his fingefs. Alphys rolled her eyes and sighed. It wasn't even 8:00am and she was already done with her friend's shit; he was reverting to his old ways again. She supposed that it could not be helped, and began maintenance work.

After completing an external damage assessment and repairing the little scratches, Alphys began asking him about the events of the past week, just to see if she should execute an internal damage assessment, as well as to see if there are any other adjustments that she needed to make. However, the innocent question of, "How has your week been?" was taken as an interrogation by the robot, which made him incomprehensibly, indescribebly angry.

"My week's been absolutely fabulous, darling!" he sniped, still making an effort to conceal his sudden rage at the innocent question. However skilled of an actor he was, however, it was difficult for him to hide his actual feelings from his friend, who he shouldn't ever have any need to act around and thus was vulnerable.

"Uh, jeez, Mettaton! It's just??? A question???" The currently-unemployed lizard was confused. Why was he acting like this? What even set him off? Even though he'd promised to change his ways for the better, she felt that he'd actually changed for the worse with how he'd been acting the past few months! "Why are you fucking acting like this?!"

He clenched his fists. "No reason! I'm just mad!"

"Don't take your bad day out on me! For God's sake!"

"You asked a question, I answered you! You're the one who got all mad because I answered you!" He stomped off the table to face her, glowering down at his friend.

"You were just rude about it!"

"What did I say that was rude?!"

"It was your tone!" She smacked the bench, sparks of electricity beginning to manifest themselves as a result of both of them losing control of their temper at the same time. "Obviously, you're fine, so you're free to go! Hmph!" And she pushed him out the door, slamming it behind him.

Undyne must have been influencing her. And he stomped away. It was not even 10:00, and his day was turning out to be just marvelous! As he continued through Hotland to the Surface, his stomp slowed to a brisk walk, which further slowed down to a gait that could only be described as a "trudge." God, how stupid was he? He specifically told himself that today would be a good day, and that everything was going to be okay, and now look at what he had just fucking done! He'd just further alienated someone he'd been trying to reconcile with, and what's worse is that it's not like he even treated Alphys right before! He feels like a damn liar for apologizing and then just acting like that! He fell to his hands and knees, and smashed his fist on the sidewalk in frustration at himself. Stupid! But, after kneeling for a few minutes, he knew that he could not stay there for long, and stood up and kept walking. He'd need to catch a the 8:30 bus if he wanted any hope of making it to the set on time, and the last thing he'd want to do is make a bad first impression on the directors. Rush hour's a prick.

"Cut!" shouted the director, smacking the clapper for the 114th time this scene. "Remember, Mettaton, your character isn't an actor reading a script! Try again!" The director sighed. Daniel Holland always takes on the desperate wannabes that show up to the set completely stressed out. But it's not like he could say anything about that, considering Holland's reputation. If anyone is stupid enough to go to Holland as an agent, he supposed that what happens to them is simply Darwin's law.

Mettaton was actually kind of miserable, with the director being so strict about the scene. He'd already been on set for several hours, and they'd actually gotten quite behind on the schedule, as many of the scenes he was in took a lot longer than they were originally alotted to. It was likely because he was stressed out from that morning, but at the same time good actors aren't supposed to let it get to them. Good actors are supposed to be able to let themselves go and fully become their character. So he inhaled and decided to suck it up and get this over with.

"And action!"

"Mr. Henley! Do you actually think that it could have been...me?" inquired the robot, playing his role as a butler to the wealthy mistress who had been murdered. He dramatically put his hand to his chest and stepped back, making sure to play out his character's disgust.

"Again, Mr. Reynolds, we must consider all the possibilities." responded the main character, who rolled his fake mustache in his fingers. "It could have been anybody here. I am not yet implying anyone in particular."

"Hmph!" his character left the room indignantly, clacking his shoes against the tile floor.

"And cut! That's a wrap!" shouted the director, clapping the clapper a final time. "Even though it took longer than usual I still have some good footage to use, so we'll be back same time tomorrow!" Mettaton sighed in relief. Finally, it was over. His battery was beginning to die and the shoes he as wearing were not at all comfortable. They actually caused him significant pain, which was not easy considering that his feet were made of metal. As he moved to walk off the set, his agent, Daniel, strided over to talk to him.

"Mettaton, we need to talk." he said sternly.

"Alright, what is it?"

"Off set."

As they walked off set and into a nearby hallway, Mettaton suddenly got the sense that something bad was going to happen. "What is it?"

"I'm going to cut to the chase here." He cleared his throat. "Your performance today was terrible. This director is a nice guy, so he won't say it, but it's unlikely that anyone would want you back after messing up everyone else's schedule today and making the shoot take several hours longer than it should have."

"I don't understand..." his body tensed as systems began running in high power mode. This was bad. This was very, very bad.

"What I'm saying is, you don't seem to be what we were looking for. After this job, I don't think I will continue working with you."

Mettaton's heart dropped as he felt his hopes and dreams slipping from his grasp. He's getting fired? He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "But...You can't! You've got to give me another chance! Today was just a bad day, I swear! I'm usually better than this! Please!" he begged, bending down and putting his hands together by his chest.

Daniel shook his head. "Well, since you asked so nicely...I might keep you around. On two conditions."

"Oh my God, thank you! I'll do anything you ask!" He straightened up and even jumped a little, smiling at the opportunity to redeem himself. "So what do I have to do?"

"One, you have to show improvement on every other shoot you have scheduled this week, and two, you need to attend the monthly agency party and make a good impression on everyone there."

"Anything you ask!" He put out his hand for a handshake, which Daniel accepted, and left the premises bouncing not thinking as to the true nature of Daniel's request, despite the fact that he'd literally been shown Daniel's true nature the day before.

Before he knew it, it was the night of the party, and Mettaton was excited. Tonight was the night that he was going to show his manager once and for all that he should keep him around and impress everyone there. He didn't actually know the dress code for the party, so clothing was...difficult. Should he wear a suit, or should he go for a more casual approach? It would be a bad idea to wear jeans and a t-shirt to any event, especially one at which there would likely be some more notable people! And wearing a suit at a more casual event would be strange, so he eventually decided, after much thought, that he couldn't go wrong with a polo shirt and some nice slacks. It was nice enough to not appear underdressed at a formal event, yet still casual enough that he wouldn't look like a pretentious asshole if it were more casual. As he was new on the scene, he did not want to make a poor first impression by jumping the gun and dressing like somebody too important. The fashion scene was a fickle one! He walked all the way from Hotland, hiking down Mt. Ebott all the way to the first road where he could recieve a taxi bound for LA. Perhaps it was not the best idea to wear dress shoes while hiking, but he felt too guilty about how he'd treated Alphys when they last met to risk asking her to bring his other shoes back. When he reached the road, the taxi was there waiting for him.

"Hello, my name is Logan and I will be your driver this evening. What address would you like me to take you?" asked the driver named Logan, to which Mettaton responded with the address of where he was going. The driver sighed quietly upon hearing the address, which, being an LA taxi driver, he knew fairly well. He hoped for the sake of whoever would end up taking this man home that this guy wouldn't be too nightmarish of a drunk. "Alright, I'll tell you when we're there."

Riding a taxi from Mt. Ebott was quite different from riding the bus. For instance, he didn't have to deal with random people giving unwelcome feedback about his body. Some compliments are nice, but oftentimes people go above and beyond what is an acceptable thing to say to a person, especially in public. He supposed that he was simply experiencing culture shock upon meeting the humans; although he expected there to be some bad eggs, he didn't expect the humans to be quite so blunt about wanting his butt. And he definitely did not expect humans to be so outspoken about disliking people who are different, as he noticed from the numerous less-than-polite remarks he got regarding his fashion choices, which he felt wasn't even their business. Humans are quite rude, he mused, but they aren't even willing to fight to back up their claims. They're all bark and no bite, and back off when confronted. He noted this tendency and noted it as cowardice, before switching his mind over to the present moment.

"So, how's your day?" Mettaton asked.

"It was alright. Traffic's pretty bad. What about yours?"

"Oh, mine's going really well! I'm going to an agency party for my job!"

"That's nice. So, if I may ask, what's daily life like for Monsters? I heard there's a ton of puzzles down there." And the conversation between the two continued throughout the taxi ride, with Logan occasionally pausing to focus on the road. Mettaton noted that driving on the Surface, despite how much more spacious it is, was not much better in terms of traffic compared to the Underground. Everyone and their mother must be out tonight, he mused, looking out the window.

"How many humans are there, for there to be this much traffic up here?" Mettaton pondered aloud. He rested his head on the headrest.

"Oh, yeah. There's over 7 billion humans in the world, though a large proportion of us congregate around cities."

"Seven billion?!" The robot was shocked at this response. He knew that humans were numerous, but seven billion? There weren't even one billion monsters, and the Underground was extremely crowded, even after the Surface had opened up.

"Yep. We have crowding problems too, because humans just suck at using space. I just think there's too many people sometimes, but it's not like I can do anything about it." Logan mused, a long, pensieve silence replacing the conversation.

"Oh, there's your stop. That'll be $50.00, or 5000g. Have a good night!

Mettaton was taken aback by that expense. Wow! Things really are more expensive on the surface! But he supposed it would be better than having to deal with walking around in the dark. Mettaton felt that the Surface, despite having more lights, had an unsafe, exposed energy to it that the Underground didn't really have. Perhaps it was simply that it was still unfamiliar, being in such an open space after growing up in a small cavern.

He thanked the cab driver and strided to the door of the house he'd been invited to. It's quite a nice house, with a well-maintained garden that looked almost like it could have been maintained by King Asgore himself. Almost. The lawn was quite green, and the house being among the largest buildings he'd ever seen. It wasn't really a house, more than it was a mansion by Kingdom of Monsters standards. He walked up to the door, which was a white wooden door with an etched glass panel. There was nothing that he felt could ruin his mood this night, his soul almost jumping with glee at being invited to a party.

With no concept whatsoever as to what was going to transpire in these next several hours, he rang the doorbell and smiled, hoping to impress the party's attendees and certain that he was going to be able to stay with the agency.

Oh, dear God. He stumbled home, limping with his shoes on backward, polo shirt not properly tucked in and his hair a disheveled mess. His mind was under the influence of far too many substances to even comprehend what had just occured, and he probably would not want to, anyway. His whole backside hurt so much that he couldn't even walk properly, and his inebriated state did not help at all in that regard. His mascara had streamed down his face, his throat hurt very badly, and his insides were trying to escape through his mouth. He eventually tripped on his own shoes, and began to vomit as he held himself up with his hands and knees, throwing up everything he'd ingested that day in a slurry of half-chewed food. He wasn't entirely sure where that was stored as Alphys hadn't really equipped him with any sort of a digestive system, but he couldn't think clearly enough in this state to really be able to care. All that he wanted to do in this moment was to go home and sleep. Somehow, despite his inebriation, he was miraculously able to stagger his way into his apartment, peel off his improperly worn clothing, which was now in severe need of laundering, shower, brush his teeth and then fall into bed, immediately falling into a fitful sleep.

That morning, he woke up and everything was fine. That last night must have been just a terrible dream. He looked out the window. There wasn't really much to see out of them; it must still have been early in the morning. He stood up and began his daily routine, excited for the coming day. There'd be an agency event that night, and he was excited to make a good impression on the attendees. However, as he left his apartment, something felt extremely off. The street was devoid from its usual chatter and crowdedness. He checked his phone. 8:30am. It was rush hour, where could everyone be? Looking aroumd, he noticed that everything had a hazy quality to it that he wasn't really able to place. The people who were around looked away from him, and even seemed to be actively avoiding him. The robot found this very strange; people hadn't treated him like this, not since he got his body. Hey, he still had time to kill. Perhaps, it would be a good idea to try to reconcile with his friend, Alphys. So he decided to walk there, the usual searing heat of Hotland not bothering him as he trodded along to his friend's house.

Upon reaching his destination, he decided to walk up the stairs onto her porch, noting that the stairs were creaking especially loudly today. He knocked on the door, only to get no response.

"Hello? Alphys, I've come to apologize." Still no response. Perhaps she was not home. He decided that he would come back later, and when he turned to leave, he saw her, as well as his dear cousin. They appeared to be chatting.

"Hey, Alphys! Blooky!" He paused. The two of them looked over at him, their expressions twisted in disgust, before turning back to their conversation. This was quite odd. What has happened? Perhaps, they didn't recognize him. But how would that happen? Had he done something wrong? Did Alphys hate him after their last encounter? Had he hurt his cousin again? He hadn't been too good about staying in contact with them, after all, a fact that he had felt quite guilty about. "Hey, guys, what's wrong?"

The two of them looked at him again, this time, appearing slightly annoyed. "You are." Alphys finally responded. "Get away from me."

"...What?" Mettaton was taken aback by this irregular response. This was quite out of character, especially for her. She got mad at times, but luckily for their friendship never seemed to hold a grudge against anybody but herself.

"You know what you did." she scoffed, walking away. "Just because I give you a body and say do what you want doesn't mean you can treat it with disrespect."

"...Wh...what?!"

"Uh...yeah..." his cousin started, timidly. "I think...she's a little mad that you kinda messed up the body she built, i think...uh...no offense, but...I thought I had raised you better...sorry..." And before he could respond in any way, his cousin disappeared.

"Ah! No! Blooky, wai--" But they were already long gone. Confused, he began to trudge home when he had the funny feeling that people were  
making fun of him. He looked around, people turning away as he met their gaze. What had happened? Walking more, the figures around him began to grow more numerous, and some even started acting aggressively, shouting profanities and grabbing at him.

"Come here, you little slut!"

"Come on, you know you're into it!"

As he turned and began to run, he felt someone grab his wrist. It was Daniel.

"D-Daniel?!" he exclaimed, trying desperately to get away as he felt his body growing heavy and his senses beginning to dull. His body began feeling like it had been made of clunky plastic instead of the sophisticated technology that it actually was.

"They know."

With these words from his agent, who was now cackling and gripping Mettaton's arm with an unbreakable grip, the mob of people engulfed him and he fell off the bed as he woke up screaming helplessly in the dark as the reality of the previous night burned into him and curled into fetal position on the floor of his apartment, beginning to cry for the first time since he was in grade school.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, I am back from the dead! This chapter was really heavy and hard to write, and I really tried to write it sensitively and hope nothing was offensive, I just tried to write from what I know about trauma and having dealt with trauma. Note that nothing the narrator says, or things the characters think are a reflection on what I actually think. Nobody deserves sexual abuse just because they want a job.


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